


The Mutant Registration Act (Can Go Suck A Dick)

by bismoran



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Brotherhood of Mutants, Discrimination, Gen, Magneto/steve friendship, Mutant Rights, mutant!captain America, sterilization tw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-11
Updated: 2014-01-08
Packaged: 2018-01-04 09:35:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1079403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bismoran/pseuds/bismoran
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It turns out Steve Rogers isn't human. He's a mutant. The super soldier serum simply changed his powers before they had the chance to appear. When a leak at S.H.I.E.L.D causes the general public to find out, he is asked to step down from the Avengers while a meeting discussing his position on the team is discussed. He meets a kid on his way home, and steps into a whole new world of mutant liberation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All things said by Nick Fury are to be assumed to be a lie until proven otherwise. Mist Mistress is a character from the comic books, but after M-Day she loses her powers. Because I don't know what M-Day is yet, that hasn't happened. The Brotherhood are currently in New York, rather than Genosha because they are working on a plot. I assume Magneto has multiple homes and apartments all over the world, so this is one of them. 
> 
> Mostly movie verse and TV show verse compliant, but I've thrown in things from the comics as needed. This universe is an approximation of everything I've read about, minus the Ultimates.

“You nervous buddy?” Tony Stark asked, giving Steve a slap on the back and adjusting his navy blue suit collar from behind. Even though it didn't hurt as much as it probably could have, Steve flinched. His stomach was like taffy, being pulled every which way. He still couldn't believe it.

“Yeah, I think so,” Steve said, nodding, adjusting the cuff of his shirt. He liked the way the subtle orange pinstriping looked on it, when cuffed over the blue houndstooth. The sliver round shield-shaped cufflinks were a Christmas present from Natasha and they really brought the outfit together. The way his hair was slicked back made him feel uncomfortable, as did the makeup they had put on him, but Tony's press people had insisted he wear it. 

“Good, you should be, the press core are sharks, they'll fucking eat you alive.” Tony led Steve over to the curtain, to look out at the crowd without them seeing him. The faces of the camera men and the mic guys and the reporters all blended together into an angry brown sea. “My suggestion is when it comes time for questions, call on that short dumpy looking blonde in front, she's apparently got a brother who's a mutant, she's pretty nice about those things, she'll soft ball you, uh, and the Asian guy in the corner, the one with flipped hair? His boyfriend is a mutant, so him too, and uh...if you have to pick someone who will ask tough questions go for the black woman in the red suit from MSNBC, she's at least fair in her assessment of mutant issues.”

“Did you research these people?” Steve asked, eyes nervously darting from the three people Tony mentioned. The blonde, sitting on the edge of the stage, looked towards him, and he moved back to make sure he was completely concealed by the curtain.

“You gotta know what kind of sharks you're dealing with. You need to know whether the shark you're punching is a great white or a nurse shark.”

“I'm impressed how invested you seem in this shark metaphor,” Bruce Banner said from the corner of the room. His curly brown hair had been groomed into neat swirls, rather than the mess they usually were, clearly one of Tony's press-day hair and makeup peoples' doing. This press conference was for him as much as it was for Steve and his nerves showed. After all, he had discovered what the Super Solider Serum did to normal humans. The tapping of his middle finger on the part of his leg just above his knee felt like the beat of Steve's death-knell. 

“Five minutes,” Pepper said, coming into the curtained off area. She'd been a saint throughout all this, helping Steve with everything every way she could like he was a high-ranking Stark Industries official, rather than just a friend of Tony's. 

“Oh, Steve, who picked out that tie?” she tutted, walking over to a table where more ties sat. 

“You don't like the tie?” Tony asked. “I like the tie. Mutants are children of the atom, there's an atom on his tie, I like it.” Steve looked down at his orange atom tie and began to undo it, looking up at Pepper as he did.

“Steve, let me give you some advice, never listen to anything Tony says as far as dressing for a press conference goes. He once wore a ten year old Led Zeppelin t-shirt with motor oil down the front to one.”

“Once. To be fair, I was drunk,” Tony said, swaggering towards her. 

“You say that like that makes it better.” Pepper picked out a muted red tie. She held it up to Steve, then put it back down, picking up a bright blue one, that nearly matched the blue of his eyes, instead, again holding it up to him. She handed it to him. “This one.”

Steve tied it carefully.

“Be honest though, that was one of the best press conferences I've ever had. The press ate it up.”

“It was unprofessional, and I was stuck answering questions about it for days,” Pepper said, grinning fondly at Tony. Bruce's drumming on his leg slowed down a little as he smiled knowingly at the couple. “Two minutes,” she warned, looking at Steve. He could see the nerves in her face too. 

All of them were nervous about this. Even Clint, and Tasha were nervous about this. Thor didn't understand what was going on completely, midgardians were midgardians, human or mutant, but he had wished Steve luck. Pietro and Wanda Maximoff had even sent Tony a text for Steve and Bruce from Sacramento saying they were holding thumbs for them. Tony had to google that for him. (It meant essentially the same as 'fingers crossed' but it was German. Which confused Steve. He was pretty sure the Maximoffs weren't German.)

They could see Commander Fury walk up to the podium. His usual black coat and black outfit underneath had been replaced with a well-tailored suit, and his normal eyepatch with a special occasions eyepatch, decorated with small black diamonds in the shape of an eye, which shined in the harsh lights of the press core. A few camera men scrambled to fix their cameras as the light shining off the diamonds cast a glare into them, obscuring most of the video they were getting. Which was probably Fury's point. 

“Thank you for meeting with us today, Captain Rogers and Doctor Banner are quite excited to get started, so, without making you wait further, Captain Steve Rogers.” Commander Fury gestured for Steve to follow him onto the stage. And even though he felt like his legs would fall through the floor of the stage, Steve did. Commander Fury pulled him into a one armed embrace, which Steve returned, even if the idea of hugging a man like Nick Fury made him even more nervous than he already was. It was like the blond boy in the movie Clint had showed him hugging the evil wizard. Intimidating. Creepy. 

“You better not fuck this up, Rogers,” Commander Fury whispered in his ear as they pulled back from the hug, and walked off stage to join Pepper, Bruce, and Tony.

Steve closed his eyes and cleared his throat, feeling like the scrawny little fifteen year old in his civics class he used to be, who's voice shook and cracked every time he read his essays. 

“Uh, um,” he began, looking down at his notes, then up at the audience. “Uh, Thank you for being, uh, here today. Uh, recently, scientists made a discovery about me, that, uh, I'm still not sure I've coped with.” Steve gave a nervous smile that made the press chortle. “For the past, uh, nearly seventy five years, I uh, was under the impression my abilities, my strength and other such abilities came from the Super Solider Serum given to me by Dr. Abraham Erskine. But just four days ago, after a blood test attempting to recreate the original serum was given to me, it was discovered that, in fact, I was a mutant, and, uh, that was why the serum gave me different abilities from those of Doctor Banner, who's serum was later proven to be, in fact, the original serum.” Steve could have kicked himself for the number of repeating words in that sentence. “Today, after this press conference I intend to register with the Mutant Control Agency, in compliance with the Mutant Registration Act, and afterwards, I intend to take a month off from active field duty, until S.H.I.E.L.D has made a decision on whether or not to terminate my position with the Avengers. I will now be taking questions.”

Steve studied the three people Tony felt were safe...and promptly ignored them.  
Instead, he called on a tall black man in the front row with a thick, dark mustache. 

“You sir,” he pointed.

“Mr Rogers, has your opinion on mutant rights changed since discovering you yourself are a mutant?”

“No, I don't think so. I think I am already pretty progressive as far as mutants go.” It was automatic. Like he was on autopilot. The truth was he hadn't even thought about it.  
000

“Has the Rogers press conference started yet?” Magneto asked Toad, walking into the large, living room. Toad sat on the sofa, basking in the sunlight let in by the massive bay window, taking up more than his fair share of the couch, his feet resting in the lap of Mist Mistress who sat next to him. Kashmir, a new recruit to the Brotherhood, sat on the floor, leaving the large leather armchair empty.

“Yeah. You missed the opening and like, six questions, but it's still going on,” Mist Mistress said, glancing up at Magneto. “I have it Tivoed anyway.”

“Captain Rogers,” a Sikh reporter in a bright teal turban on TV began.

“That's not Mystique, is it?” Kashmir asked.

“No. As far as I know she's a blonde woman today,” Mist Mistress replied.

“-resign from the Avengers?” The Sikh man finished.

“What did he say?” Mist Mistress asked, glancing at Toad. 

“'Do you think, with the discovery that you're a mutant, you will be asked to resign from the Avengers,'” Toad said. “Maybe if you and Chatty Cathy over there were quiet for two seconds, you'd hear it.”

There was a large pause as Captain America thought. One could see the pain morph his face. The wrinkle in his brow and upper nose. 

“I hope my departure from the Avengers is only temporary and that soon I will be able to return.”

“That wasn't my question, Captain Rogers. Do you think the US government will force you to resign from the Avengers?”

“No. Next question.” 

Rogers called on a blonde woman in a light blue cardigan. For a split second, her eyes flashed gold. One could only see it if one was looking for it.

“That's Mystique,” Magneto informed Kashmir.

“Nifty,” she replied, cracking her back loudly as she twisted her body. The back of her purple top rode up a little, revealing a sliver of her brown back.

“Stop that, it sounds disgusting,” Toad said, poking her in the back with one of his toes. 

“She doesn't say that when you do that thing with your tongue,” Mist Mistress said, contorting her face into an annoyed expression as she sighed exasperatedly at Toad.

“Stop bickering,” Magneto said, focusing on the news. “You are all members of a mutant rights group, not five year old children.” 

“I'm a child,” Kashmir whispered, mostly to herself, curling her thick black hair around her finger.

“How do you feel about the mutant liberation group, branded by some to be a terrorist group, the Brotherhood Of Mutants?” Mystique asked Steve Rogers. This reporter's face she was wearing had dimples, and they showed a little as she said 'brotherhood', which made Magneto smile a little as well.

Rogers opened his mouth to start to answer the question. From one of the wings of the stage, Commander Nick Fury walked on. He put an arm around Captain America and gently pushed him away from the podium. 

“I'm sorry ladies and gentlemen, but that's all the time we have for questions today. Doctor Banner will be out to answer questions in a few minutes.” He led Rogers off the stage.

When the Latina reporter came back on screen, Toad flipped the television off and stood up, walking out of the room. Mist Mistress followed.

“What do you think it means that Captain Pirate didn't want him answering a question about the Brotherhood?” Kashmir asked looking over at Magneto.

She had big brown eyes, and they always looked behind you, not at you, which made Magneto a little uneasy. But she was kind, and helpful, often running errands members of the Brotherhood were unable to run because they were labeled criminals or terrorists, which was useful.

“Captain Pirate?” he asked, adjusting a picture with a metal frame that had gone slightly crooked across the room.

“Eyepatch dude. I don't know his name.” At some point between I and don't, she switched from English to Spanish. 

“Commander Fury. The head of S.H.I.E.L.D,” Magneto informed her, switching to Spanish as well. 

“Yeah. What do you think Commander Fury meant not letting him answer the question?”

“Likely he didn't want Rogers to answer the question wrong. If he called us a terrorist group, it might alienate moderate mutants who view us as doing some good things, and if he agreed we are freedom fighters, he will alienate most humans. It would take a very delicate hand to answer such a question, and I'm not certain that Captain America has the right hand to do it.”

“Then why'd you have Mystique ask it?”

“One can learn a lot about a person from how they look right before they answer a question.”

“Like what?”

Magneto ignored her, and she took that as an excuse to shut up.  
000  
After the press conference, Tony took Steve, Pepper, and Bruce out for a 'Well, That Went Better Than Expected' lunch at some sushi place in the lower east side. The place had white plastic walls and large, round red booths and a shiny chrome counter where the sushi maker could make the sushi.

“You know,” Steve said, awkwardly attempting to pick up a piece of unagi with his chopsticks, “This used to be a,” he managed to get the piece of sushi off the plate by about two inches, then it slipped off and fell back down before he could even take a bite. Pepper stood and went to get a fork from the front counter, probably knowing Bruce and Tony wouldn't have done so, and would have instead just kept snickering, “A kosher butcher sho-” Again he got the unagi up in the grasp of his chopsticks, but again it fell back onto his plate. Tony and Bruce just teetered with laughter they were barely able to hold in. “Shop. It had the best brisket anywhere.”

Pepper returned with the fork and handed it wordlessly to Steve.

Tony gave her a look which spoke volumes, mostly on the topic of 'Why do you always have to ruin my fun, Pepper?'

And Pepper shot back a look that said 'The man is nearly 100 years old and a war hero. Don't laugh just because he doesn't know how to do something.'

“So, uh, Steve,” Bruce began, not wanting to get involved in the intense eye argument between Tony and Pepper, “What's your plan if S.H.I.E.L.D does decide to let you go?”

“He's gonna come work at Stark Industries with me,” Tony said. “We can make him some assistant director of pool playing or something.”

“Thanks, Tony, that's really nice, but, uh,” Steve began, “If S.H.I.E.L.D lets me go, uh, I'm considering going back to school... For art maybe. Or this school up in Westchester offered me the chance to work for them as a history teacher...I might do that.”

“What kind of school lets someone with no teaching degree teach?” Bruce asked.

“A special school,” Pepper said, mocking the idea. “You need to be careful about the college thing, by the way, not all schools allow mutants to attend. Like, MIT-”

“My alma mater,” Tony butted in.

“His alma mater,” Pepper said, giving an almost imperceptible eye roll, “allows mutants, but Stanford doesn't yet.”

“They claim it's because a student with earthquake powers who attended there in the 1990s nearly destroyed a lecture hall by sneezing,” Bruce informed Steve in a voice half between a normal voice and a whisper. He cleared his throat and reached for a glass of water. 

“But I don't have earthquake powers,” Steve said, confused. “Why can't they just let mutants who don't have dangerous powers in?”

Pepper and Bruce started talking at the same time, and when they realized it, they both stopped talking. 

“You first,” Pepper said.

“No, I want to hear your insight.” 

“Okay, well, how does someone determine what powers are dangerous? Is phasing through walls dangerous enough to be banned from attending a school? No, probably not, but what if you use that power to break into a fellow student's bedroom at night and smother them in their sleep because they stole your boyfriend? Then it might be.”

Tony and Bruce looked at Pepper, their eyes a little wide, and their brows a little tense.

“Wow, you really thought that out didn't you?” Tony asked, giving Pepper a wide grin. “I'm going to start locking my bedroom door at night...not that that will do me much good if you can phase through walls.”

“There was a murder four years back in Lubbock,” Pepper defended, cheeks turning pink. 

Steve pulled a large stack of forms out of his breast pocket, along with a blue ballpoint pen. He brought the pen up to his lips, gently bit off the blue cap, setting it back in his pocket and began to read through the forms.

“Steve,” Tony said, “Is now really the time? We're having fun.”

“He only has fifteen days to fill out those forms,” Bruce informed Tony, keeping his voice hushed. 

“Really?” Tony asked, wrinkling his nose. It made him look rather like a twelve year old girl who'd just been told how sex worked. “Well, that's stupid. Hand some of that to each of us. There's no reason we can't fill out part of the forms for you.”

Before Steve could do it himself, Tony grabbed the stack of papers from him and handed stacks of roughly the same size to Pepper, Bruce, and himself, handing some of the forms back to Steve. Pepper pulled out two pens, handing one to Tony.

“Do you have one more?” Bruce asked politely, glancing at Pepper, and then Steve. 

Steve reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a pen, handing it to Bruce. 

The three worked in silence for a few minutes, with only a few stops to ask Steve his mother's maiden name ('Cassidy'), place of birth (the form had wanted a hospital, but Steve had been born at home, with a midwife present, so Tony had just put down his home address at that time) and social security number ('Tony, just let Steve write it down, someone might be listening'). Til Pepper found something interesting on the forms.

“Well, I need your signature here, but, this is strange.” Her brow knit up, and she bit her lower lip.

“What?” Bruce asked, trying to read the form over her shoulder as he picked up a piece of sushi with his chopsticks.

“It says that in order for a mutant to get any kind of state or federal government assistance they have to agree to...That can't be right.”

“Agree to what?” Bruce picked up the form and studied it. “It must be a typo,” he said uncertainly. He pursed his lips together and reread it. 

“I don't think it's a typo.”

“What's it say?” Steve asked.

Tony snatched the paper out of Bruce's hands. “It says 'By registering with the Mutant Registration Department (“the Department”), the undersigned agrees to comply with all medical procedures or examinations required or requested by federal and state governments prior to receipt of any public benefits. For the purpose of this agreement, “public benefits” includes, but is not limited to: Food Stamps; The Special Supplemental Nutrition Program for Women, Infants and Children; The Home Energy Assistance Program; Social Security Disability Insurance; Supplemental Security Income; and Temporary Assistance for Needy Families. The undersigned may be required to comply with requirements such as sterilization, experimental medications to suppress abilities, or other procedures at the discretion of the Department. If the household includes minor children, the undersigned agrees to ensure compliance with the above provisions for all dependent children with mutant abilities.'”

“What?” Steve asked.

“Well, uh, it makes sense I guess,” Bruce said, rubbing his neck awkwardly. But his eyes were sad. 

“Is that legal?” Steve asked “Can they do that?”

“They won't do it to you,” Bruce reassured Steve. “You're Steve Rogers. Captain America.”

The paperwork was filled out pretty quickly after that, a couple signatures on the dotted line, a couple initials at the top of paragraphs. And the forms were done.  
000  
Kashmir didn't like being sent out on errands. Being out in public terrified her. The centennials weren't supposed to enter Manhattan, but that didn't always mean they listened. And the way people stared at her, it was possible it was because she mouthed the song playing on her ipod to herself, but to her it was proof they knew she was a mutant. She was a freak.   
Freak.

Freak.

Freak. 

No. 

No. 

She wasn't supposed to think like that in the Brotherhood. Being a mutant meant she was special. Superior. Better than.

Special.

Special.

Special.

Special.

The word stuck in her head, and she mentally chewed on it the way she literally chewed on the tip of her hair.

The Lower East Side was much ritzier than her working class Latino neighborhood in Queens had been. It'd been gentrified, even since she used to visit it as a child. 

Gentrified.

That was another interesting word. 

Kashmir didn't pay attention as she walked. She walked like she was in a daydream. It was all the emotions around her mostly. Her power. She couldn't control it. 

It was a problem, particularly on jobs the Brotherhood had her help pull. 

But it was also a problem that day. She stepped down, thinking there was more sidewalk ahead of her, instead of a curb, and tripped, her groceries landing in the street, and all over the sidewalk. A yellow taxi-cab nearly ran over her cantaloup, but it pushed it instead back towards the curb. Three large navel oranges fell down the gutter, out of reach. The small jar of jerkins she'd bought from a specialty deli shattered. 

And Magneto was going to fucking murder her. Okay. Maybe not murder her. But something very unpleasant would happen. She was sure of it. She tried to help herself up, willing herself not to cry. 

“You okay?” A tall, muscular man in a blue suit, with blue tie, and a white collared shirt pin-striped with orange was picking up the lamb she'd picked up from the butcher shop and put it into a cloth bag he already seemed to have half full. 

“You're Captain America,” Kashmir informed him, holding a hand out for her bag.

“I am. Are you okay?” he repeated.

“Yeah. Fine. Fine. Fine.” Sometimes she got stuck on words. It bothered some people. But Captain America, he didn't seem to notice. 

“You're bleeding,” he said, pointing to her palm. She looked down at it.

“Shit,” she mumbled. “I'm going to get blood on this fucking bag.” And Magneto would be even angrier. 

“I have bandages at my place. It's on the next block. If you want, you can come back with me, get one.”

“Much obliged. Gimme a sec to text my, uh, Aunt. Gotta make sure she knows who I'm with, in case something happened.” 

She pulled out a cellphone and sent a text to Mist Mistress. She would have sent one to Magneto, but seeing as he was listed in her phone as 'Magneto', unlike Mist Mistress, who was simply listed as 'Misty', that probably wasn't a good plan. And Misty would show Magneto and Mystique anyway. 'So. Cpt Am lives in our nbrhd. cut my hand. going 2 his house 4 a bandaid. Ltr. -K

Captain America smiled. “That was smart. Most kids your age would just go with me because I'm Captain America.”

“Most kids my age around here are white and trust the cops. And you're essentially a cop in a funny costume.”

That actually made Captain America laugh a little. “Fair enough.” 

“So I hear you're a mutant.” Kashmir wasn't great at small talk. And aside from that, that's what she really wanted to hear about. But she knew it was the wrong thing to bring up when she saw Captain America's face. It had a sad smile on it. 

“Yeah. I am.”

“So am I. Welcome to the family. I'm Kashmir.”

“My friends call me Steve.”

000

There were steps in front of the apartment that when it got dark enough, especially in the summer, the elderly folks, the few who still remained, rent controlled in, would go out and sit together and chat with neighbors about this one's granddaughter, or this one's grandson, or how Doris from three blocks up's daughter got put back in the loony bin again for the lord only knows what. 

Erik didn't join them. After all, he didn't know many of them, and the ones he did know were humans. So, he could tell Kashmir was surprised when she saw him sitting on the steps of the apartment. Surprised and a little scared.

“Hello Kashmir,” he greeted her in Spanish. He didn't want her scared...Or rather more scared than she already was and she seemed to react better in that language than English. 

“Hello sir,” she greeted, also in Spanish, bowing her head a little at the neck, and looking up at him. Behind him. “I accidentally broke the pickle jar I was supposed to get, and uh, the oranges, they rolled into the gutter, please don't be mad.” she flinched, like she was scared he'd hit her, even though his hand didn't move. And even though, if he wanted to hurt her, he'd likely have used the small silver chain around her neck to do it rather than his fists. 

“I'm not angry,” he said quietly. He eyed the peach colored bandage that didn't blend in with her light brown skin. “I hear you made a new friend.” 

“Well, not a friend. I, uh, met Captain America.”

“What did you talk to him about with the Captain?”

“Can I go inside? This bag is pretty heavy, and I, uh, have the transcript on my phone...Or the jist of it anyway. I wrote it down best as I could remember it, I knew I'd forget otherwise, and texted it to myself.”

Erik stood up and led her inside, over to the elevator. No one was really supposed to use the elevator, except Charles on the few rare occasions he came to visit, seeing as it lead into his own bedroom and of course no one was permitted there. Why the builders of the building had thought an elevator leading into the master bedroom was a good idea, he didn't know. 

When they emerged from the elevator, Erik gestured for her to set the bag on the bed and then to sit down in the small sitting area. There were two chairs, one moved off to the side, and a chess board. Kashmir sat down in front of black, which put her back to the bedroom door. And Erik sat down in front of his traditional white. 

“I told him you were my grandpa...Well. Not you. I told him I lived with my grandpa. I didn't, uh, I thought it was a bad idea to tell him who you were.” Kashmir studied the piece. “Can, uh, we play? We don't have to, but, I used to play. With my Aunt Noemí.” 

Erik nodded, and moved out his knight. “That was sensible.”

“Really? Good.” Kashmir moved out a pawn and scratched her head. “We talked about mutant rights. He said he's still trying to work out stuff about it. Like, he told me he didn't know about the fact that Stuy expelled mutants.”

“You told him you used to go to Stuyvesant?” Erik moved his second knight out.

“Was that a bad idea?” Kashmir studied her pieces, biting her lips as she tried to decide her next move. She finally decided to move her pawn forward one place. Erik promptly took it with his knight. 

“No. I'm just asking.”

“Yeah. He asked me if I went to school around here. And I told him not unless homeschool counts.” She moved her pawn that she had already moved forward one space. “And then he was like 'why are you home schooled?' and I told him about my panic attack and my powers and whatever. It was embarrassing, but I didn't know how to lie about that.”

“It was probably for the best you didn't lie. You aren't a good liar.”

“No. I'm not.” Kashmir laughed, and moved out her bishop. “I thought about asking him about the Brotherhood. But I thought that might be better to wait with. To make sure I had your permission. Also, I fished, uh, fixed, his light. Overhead light. It was buzzing and my dad was a...I know the word in English. But not in Spanish.” 

“Electricista?” Erik prompted, moving his knight to take it. 

“Yes. Electrician. Then he tried to tell me about some school up in Westchester and I was like, no, I don't want more people. Then he walked me home, but not actually home, because I thought it was bad for him to know where the apartment was. So, I had him walk me to one, like, four blocks away, and I pretended I couldn't find my keys until I was out of his line of sight. And I walked back here.” She moved out a pawn out of Erik's grasp, but he took another instead. Then, she took him with her second bishop. 

“All in all, I think you did well.”

“Taking your horse or with Captain America?”

“Captain America,” Erik said. “And it's a knight.” When he was teaching Anya the game, when she was very young, she used to call the knight a horse as well, when she was little. But that was painful to think of. Erik tried to push the thoughts out of his head. 

“Thank you.” 

Erik moved his second knight to the left. “What's your plan now?”

“What?”

“If you were the one in charge, not me, what would you do next?”

“Well, I was going to see if I could, with your permission, maybe see if I could maybe run into him and ask him to get a coffee with me?” 

“Like a date?”

“I don't like boys. Also, he's old enough to be my great grandfather chronologically.”

“Do you think that's the best plan of action?”

“I think so, sir. He likes me. I'm young, so likely, he'd trust me. There's the chance since I'm a kid, that it's a risk, you know, because people don't listen to kids, especially girls, but I think this is our best course of action. I might consider having Mystique go as me, but there are downsides to that, as well as benefits.”

“What benefits would come from having Mystique pretend to be you?” Erik moved his knight. “Check.”

Kashmir moved her king back one to get away from the knight. “Well, she's older. She might, uh, be more articulate as me. Or whatever. And her being articulate might help convince him to join our side. Also, she can be me, but a prettier me. You know, make the skin a little, uh, well, clearer the nose a little smaller, a little more contored. Hair neater curls. I can only be regular me. And people listen to pretty people more than not pretty people. Also, she's been with the Brotherhood longer, so if I were you, I'd trust her more. And she's also, you know, better with fighting and stuff if things go bad.”

“What might go bad?”

“The Avengers might find out I work with you and show up and start something.”

“And the downsides to having Mystique pretend to be you?” Erik took her rook. 

“Well, I talk weirdly...Oddly. I mean my sentences. I don't talk like most people, I don't think anyway. Also, her slang might be outdated, which, if Captain America has been watching TV shows and stuff, should be easy to tell. And she doesn't switch Spanish and English all the time. She might be able to carry herself like me, but I don't know if she can mimic my way of speaking. Also, uh, the noise.” She cupped her hands so they almost, but not quite, covered her ears.

“The way you can hear emotions?” Erik asked. Kashmir nodded. 

“That. I, I think he noticed how I did the thing where, when I was talking with him, when I had my headphones out, where I looked like it was hurting me, and did the ears thing. She might forget to do that when she takes off her headphones. Also, sometimes her eyes flash colors. My eyes are dark, so that would be very noticeable.” 

She moved her pawn. Erik moved a pawn out. Kashmir wasn't very good, she understood how the pieces moved, but she didn't get the strategy behind it. Despite that, her strategy in real life seemed to be quite a bit better. Or at least it was with him leading her. She was a child. That was to be expected. But she was still better at crafting plans than some adults in the Brotherhood were. 

He decided to try to lose the game, just to make it interesting. Playing chess against someone who wasn't very good was disinteresting. Of course, no one was as good as Charles. 

“So, your plan, if you were in charge of the Brotherhood would be to 'accidentally' run into Captain America, invite him out for coffee, and get to know him, while trying to lead him to our side?”

“Uh, yes, I think so, sir.” 

“That's our plan then.”

Somehow, despite Erik playing to lose, he won against her quite quickly. One of these days, he was going to have to teach her, or someone around here, to play chess properly.

000

Around six A.M., when it was still dark outside, streetlights still on, the telephone ringing woke Steve. 

He shook his head and rolled off the couch, where he had apparently fallen asleep. He walked over to the landline.

“H'lo?” he asked, whining a little, cracking his neck. 

“Rogers,” Maria Hill greeted. “Commander Fury instructed me to call you and ask you to please join us at 0900 hours for a brunch meeting...Were you sleeping? I didn't mean to wake you.”

“M'up now...wait. Why does he want me at a meeting if I'm suspended from the Avengers?”

“I'm not sure. He didn't tell me. All he said was to show up to brunch. Dress in street clothes.”  
Hill hung up and Steve wandered back to his bedroom to see if he could get another hour's rest.

Three hours later, a freshly showered, shaved, and dressed Steve Rogers wandered into the S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters, and walked up the stairs to Fury's office.

“Morning Captain,” Fury said, standing. “Close the door.”

There was a quiche, still steaming, on the table to the side of Fury's desk, next to his bookshelf, along with some cinnamon rolls, bacon, a large fruit salad in a punch bowl, and orange juice.

“My daughter made it,” Fury said, noting Steve's eyes. “The sooner we get done with business the sooner you can fucking have some. Sit.”

“I didn't know you have a daughter. What's her name?” Steve asked politely. 

“Prudence.”

Steve smiled a little.

“Think that's funny Rogers?”

“No, sir, I just like the name.”

“She's named after me and my wife's favorite Beatles song.”

“That's uh, nice, sir,” Steve tried not to look as uncomfortable as he felt. “Why'd you-”

“It wasn't our plan for the media to find out you're a mutant.” 

Steve was confused. Was that why he was called here?

There was about twenty seconds of silence. “But, we plan to, Rogers, make lemons into lemonade.”

“How do you plan to that, Commander Fury?”

Nick Fury smiled, it really looked frightful on his face, a smile, and for the first time, since Steve entered the room, sat down. He typed something into his computer and brought up a photograph of the girl Steve had helped the other day. The one who cut her hand. 

“Do you know who this is, Rogers?”

“Kashmir I think was her name. I met her yesterday. She got hurt and I helped her bandage up her hand.”

“That's her mutant name. Her real name is Miriam Perez De Soto. She's seventeen years old. And she's a member of the terrorist group 'The Brotherhood Of Mutants'.”

“You want me to kill her?” Steve asked.

“No. We want you to become close to her. Use her to infiltrate the Brotherhood and get all the information about it you can.”

When the meeting was over, Steve walked downstairs and over to Maria Hill.

“How'd the meeting go?” she asked. 

“Pretty well, surprisingly. Fury's daughter is a great cook.”

Maria looked confused. “Fury doesn't have a daughter.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am pretty sure there are multiple clones of Maria Hill. Either that or S.H.I.E.L.D has a super fast jet. That's the only way to explain the fact that Maria is both in New York and Phoenix at about the same time. 
> 
> Please leave me feedback! :D Con-crit is especially helpful.

A knock at the hotel room door at three in the morning that same day led Tasha to awake with a start. She looked across the bed at Clint, who didn't stir, reached for her black robe on the floor and silently crossed the room, opening the door just a crack. Outside, under the lighting of a single florescent light bulb screwed into the concrete awning, leaning on the rusted red metal fence, stood Maria Hill.

She and Natasha locked eyes for a moment, like a staring contest, until Maria looked away.

“Commander Fury wants you home by five pm today.”

“Why?” Natasha asked. “We're three days, at most, from bringing down Madame Masque.”

“Just you. Not Clint. Get dressed. It's gonna take a while to explain.”

Tasha walked back into the hotel room and grabbed out a black tank top and some black pants from a bag and quickly stepped into some ballet flats. She grabbed a gun from the bedside table closest to Clint, and stepped outside into the cool Phoenix night. 

Her and Maria walked down the concrete steps of the hotel, Tasha leading them. They walked out of the parking lot and started walking down the street to talk.

“So?”

“You've heard of the Brotherhood of Mutants, correct?” Maria asked, brushing a loose piece of hair out of her face. In the stark light of the street lamps, she looked like she'd lost a lot of weight very quickly. She looked gaunt. Ill. Tired. 

“Everyone's heard of the Brotherhood.”

“Now that Captain Rogers has come out of the genetic closet, so to speak, we have reason to believe the Brotherhood of Mutants intends to recruit him. And Fury's gonna let them. But there's a problem.”

“Steve's big fat bleeding heart,” Tasha said quietly. They came to an intersection and Tasha pushed the button to signal the sign that would let her walk, even though there was little traffic in this dark night. When the WALK sign switched, she and Maria quickly crossed the street. It was chilly. Tasha regretted not wearing a jacket. But on the off chance Maria wasn't Maria, she needed to be able to move unencumbered. 

“Exactly. He wants you to be Captain Roger's handler for the mission. And he wants me to stay here with Hawkeye to take down Madame Masque. I know this is you and Clint's honeymoon mission, but Commander Fury doesn't trust anyone else with a mission this delicate.”

“To be honest, I'd have put Bruce in charge.”

“I suggested that. But based on some of Doctor Banner's computer searches, we worry he too might have mutant leaning sympathies. And Stark, well, we know how he feels about mutants, but he's also Tony Stark, I don't think I need to explain to you why we don't trust him.”

“Yes. I understand.” Tasha nodded. “Can I at least have an hour to say goodbye to Clint when we get back to the motel?”

“Commander Fury actually gave you permission for two,” Maria said with a broad smile.  
000  
“So, S.H.I.E.L.D wants you to infiltrate the Brotherhood Of Mutants?” Bruce asked, spearing a yellow cherry tomato with his fork. 

Steve was over at his small apartment in Queens. He had no idea who else to talk to about this whole thing, considering he was barred from telling Tony, the thought was he'd talk, and Tasha and Clint were out of town, and Thor had returned to Asgard. But this was probably all for the best. Bruce was the best listener of the bunch, if one was honest. 

Steve didn't look at Bruce, too nervous, and instead explored the other man's kitchen with his eyes. There was a back splash done in black and white tiles that somehow looked at least one-hundred years old, and as clean and shiny as if they were brand new, an antique stove that looked like the one Steve's mother had cooked on, only bright red instead of light blue, and a small red fridge that also looked almost as old as Steve. There was a braid of garlic over the back splash of the stove, and off it hung large chili peppers. And on the back of the stove there rested numerous spices.

“Yeah. They want me to tell Magneto,” he said the name Magnet-o instead of Mag-neet-o, “I don't trust the government anymore and I want to join his side. 'The Brotherhood of Mutants,' through Kashmir.”

“Magneto,” Bruce corrected, “Kashmir's that kid you met the other day?”

“Well, not a kid, she's sixteen I think...But yeah. And they want me to try to flip her. But I think Magneto,” he said the name properly now, “is too smart for that... He's not stupid, he'd know S.H.I.E.L.D would be planning something like that.”

“Why not tell him the truth then? That you know next to nothing about mutant rights, that the government wants you to infiltrate his organization, but that you don't completely trust them?”

“I do trust them,” Steve looked down at the oak table then across the table at Bruce.

“You don't. I saw how you looked the other day when you read that Mutant Control Agency paperwork.”

“Don't push your distrust of the government onto me,” Steve said, only mostly kidding. “You're not even a mutant.”

Bruce took a sip of his wine. “Eat.” he pointed with his fork to Steve's nearly untouched salad. “And it's better than S.H.I.E.L.D's idea, isn't it?”

“I guess...I suppose it'll work.”

“I'm a little confused why they're having you do this.”

“What do you mean?”

“If they wanted a mole in the Brotherhood of Mutants, why not have The Scarlet Witch, or Quicksilver or Wolverine do it? They have mutants who have been 'out',” Bruce used quote fingers, almost landing the elbow of his white collared shirt into the tea cup of Italian dressing.

“No idea,” Steve said, popping a yellow cherry tomato into his mouth with his thumb and forefinger. “I didn't think to ask.”  
000  
Mystique didn't usually eat lunch at home. Usually she was out on some kind of Brotherhood mission during the approximate lunch time hours of eleven and four, and she'd grab a bacon egg and cheese sandwich and a Tropical Fantasy soda, they were the cheapest ones, from one of the bodegas that seemed to be every few blocks in most of the working class neighborhoods where she worked. 

But today Erik had given her another mission. And that mission involved her being home at lunch time. 

When she walked into the kitchen and popped two pieces of toast into the toaster, the first part of her attempt to make her usual lunch at home, Misty, which was, Mystique knew, though many others didn't, was actually Mist Mistress's real name, was at the kitchen table, filling in a crossword puzzle. She pulled her pink reading glasses down her round nose and turned to look at Mystique.

“Hello,” she greeted, smiling.

“Hi. Is Sleeping Beauty up yet?” Mystique asked, pulling a slab of bacon out of the fridge along with some eggs and a block of cheddar cheese. She set them on the corner counter and closed the door with her hip.

“Do you mean my husband or Kashmir?”

“Kashmir.”

“Yeah. I think I saw her go out for a walk earlier.”

“Can you text her and ask her to come home?”

“You don't have her number?”

“I left my phone at Destiny's last night. And Erik wants me following her while she talks to Captain America.”

Misty pulled out her phone and texted Kashmir. A second or two later, her phone vibrated in response. “She's on her way. She says twenty minutes tops. So, is he having you follow her in case something happens with S.H.I.E.L.D trying to capture her?”

“Or in case she decides to flip on us. He doesn't trust her completely.”

“Understandable. Hey, by the way, is that bottle of FemHRT in the medicine cabinet yours? I'm cleaning out the cabinet in the bathroom, and I thought it was either your's or, uh, Jessie from last year's. I'm gonna throw it out if it isn't your's.”

“It isn't mine, but don't toss it,” Mystique said. She grabbed a bottle of corn oil next to the stove and poured some gently into the frying pan already on the stove. Into the oiled pan, she cracked an egg and placed two rashers of bacon. “So, are you and Toad having any luck on figuring out exactly where in S.H.I.E.L.D the Super Solider Serum's formula is?”  
000  
“Have we figured out where the hell this security breach came from? The world knowing Steve Rogers is a mutant is a dangerous fucking thing,” Nick Fury shouted from the head of the meeting table, banging on it. The three walls of the conference room were large fish tanks, and Agent Blake could spend most of the meetings staring at them. Which worked well, considering it kept her from staring at Commander Fury's eyepatch. 

“We don't know that yet, sir,” Agent May said from the seat to the left of Agent Blake, “All we know is it had to be someone with clearance level nine or higher to leak the info.”

“Or someone sleeping with someone with level nine clearance,” Agent Blake mumbled to herself, staring at a large pufferfish as it swam behind Agent George's head.

“What the hell was that, Agent Blake?” Fury boomed, crossing the room, walking behind Agent Blake's chair. Blake tried hard not to look terrified. 

“Or someone sleeping with someone with level nine clearance,” Blake said turning around to look Fury in the eyes. She deserved a pat on the back, in her mind, for not stuttering as she spoke.

“Why would you suggest that, Agent Blake?”

“Because it's happened before. In 2009,” she said it 'twenty-oh-nine', “A journalist sleeping with a S.H.I.E.L.D agent managed to use the information he got from five months worth of dates with his agent boyfriend to manage to get into level four classified information.”

“We patched the holes for that security break,” a male agent who Agent Blake didn't recognize in a grey suit, said.

“For all agents under level five clearance. What if our agent is higher up? I suggest we do a background check of all level nine and ten agents and ensure none could have been careless around a journalist, or even blogger, significant other.”

“Agent Blake, I want you on this path of investigation. Agent May, Agent Coulson, my office. The rest of you motherfuckers, sit here and figure out where exactly this story first broke. When you discover that, you are to fucking tell Agent Blake, so she can factor that into her search. Meeting dismissed.”  
000  
Steve didn't get home from Bruce's until it was dark outside. There'd been a jumper onto the J train's tracks, and that had slowed down his trip home, but he couldn't bother being upset about that. 

He spent most of the ride, once he had gotten on the train and one of his fellow passengers had told him what happened, praying silently for that poor soul. Tony would have teased him, but he couldn't imagine the kind of pain it would take to take your own life.

When he walked into his apartment, before he flicked on the lights, he felt uneasy. Like something wasn't quite right. He flicked on the lights and there, laying on his couch, looking exhausted, was Tasha. 

“Hey,” he greeted, walking into the kitchen, turning his back to her.

“Hey.”

“What did I ask you about breaking into my house?” There wasn't any heat in his voice, though he was annoyed. 

“Not to do it unless it was official business. And this is.”

Steve filled up his bright red metal kettle with water and placed it on the stove, turning it on with a flick. Then he walked into the living room and sat down on the couch. “You look like hell. I'm going to make you some tea.”

“Americans can't make tea,” Tasha grumbled.

“I got some good tea mix the last time I was in Bay Ridge. From this old lady who owns a tea house. So, why'd you break in this time?” He gave her a fond smile, like a big brother. 

“Fury wants me to be your handler for the Brotherhood infiltration.”

“No offense to you, but why do I need a handler?”

“Fury's worried you'll get emotionally compromised. Which I think is a logical assumption.”

Steve wanted to argue, but the kettle started hissing. He walked back into the kitchen quickly, grabbed out a mug from one cabinet, and a small silver container from another. He fixed the tea, pulling a tea bag out of the silver box.

When the tea was fixed he brought it into the kitchen to Tasha. She took the mug, took a sip, looked at it, looked confused for a moment and then took another sip. 

“It's good isn't it?”

“At least it isn't Lipton,” she said, but it was obvious she liked the tea. After she had drained the mug, she set it on the table and looked up at Steve. “What's your plan?”

“Bruce and I were discussing it earlier. I don't think Magneto is stupid enough to believe I want to join the Brotherhood without ulterior motives. So, we thought a good plan would be to offer myself up to be educated by him. Tell him I'm still technically working for S.H.I.E.L.D, but that I'm having my suspicions and that I'm unsure how to be a mutant and I'd like him to tell me his thoughts. Stroke his ego. Bruce says it works on narcissistic serial killers.”

“...I don't like it, but it's logical. Okay.”  
000  
The house was empty and quiet when Erik woke up. He dressed in a pair of brown corduroy pants and and a plain white shirt, today feeling every last one of his eighty-five years, in the way his back cracked, and his hips popped. He was sprier than most his age, but age still took it's tole. 

The kitchen was empty. The only noise in the whole house was the clock, gently ticking to his left. He began to fix himself some coffee. When machine was finished making his mug-full, he carried it to the table and sat down.

Erik wasn't used to being alone at home. He didn't like it very much. When he was home alone, when he didn't have something to train his mind to, which he didn't, it often went back to places he didn't want to see. His past was filled with smoke and fires, and sometimes even the steam from his black coffee sometimes brought him back there. Back to the camps. Back to the fire that killed Anya. The smoke from the gun that had paralyzed Charles. Even when he tried to force himself to block it out, it still crept in around the edges, to just where he could see them.

It made him relieved, therefore, when there was a knock at the door a few minutes after he sat down. Rather than walk into his room and take the elevator, he walked down the flight of stairs to the first floor and looked out the peep hole. 

Even in plain clothes, even to someone who had only seen a photo or two of him, Erik could tell right away the man was Steve Rogers. Captain America. He opened the door, despite his surprise and the slight apprehension gnawing at him. 

“Hello,” the Captain greeted. 

“Hello Captain. Come inside.”

Steve stepped inside and followed Erik upstairs into the kitchen, matching Erik's slow steps with his own. “I go by Steve most of the time,” he informed Erik.

“Steve,” Erik said, almost rolling the word into his mouth. It was odd to him, that this great man in front of him, even through some of his bitterness, Erik could admit his greatness, chose to be named by such a simple name, rather than Captain America. “I'm surprised you've come Steve.”

“I hadn't planned to, actually...S.H.I.E.L.D wanted me to find Kashmir and work through her for a few months. Try to convince her I didn't trust them. But, I thought you were too smart to fall for that. That you'd know I'm trying to infiltrate. So I decided to do it this way. Show up here. Ask you ”

Oh, this was a bold move. This was the equivalent of letting your enemy know your battle plan. There was a catch to it, Erik knew, but it was still a very dangerous move. 

“Ask me what?”

“Ask you to tell me your side of the mutant versus humans debacle, and try to learn as much as I can about it.”

“Why?” Erik studied Captain America's face carefully, looking for signs of deception. And saw none. 

“I've been human my whole life. Or thought I was. I know three mutants even kind of well. Quicksilver and the Scarlet Witch, and Wolverine. And now, all of a sudden, I'm a mutant. I need someone to show me how to be a mutant.”

Erik laughed. It was a small, quiet chuckle. “There is no one way to be a mutant. My daughter and son should have shown you that at the very least.”

“Your daughter and son?”

“Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, the Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver, are my son and daughter,” he said quietly. He gripped his coffee mug, his thumb brushing against the handle gently. A nervous tick. 

“I didn't know that.”

“I'm not surprised. I suppose having a world famous 'terrorist',” he removed his hands from his mug and made quote fingers, “ for a father isn't something isn't something many superheroes would want the world to know.”

After his hour long meeting with Magneto, Steve walked a few blocks to Katz' Delicatessen to meet Natasha for a debriefing.

“So?” she asked him, once they'd both ordered.

“I have one thing to say for the man, Fury definitely underestimates him.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cherik mention btw.

The city was beautiful in May. Even if it started to get a little hot sometimes. And for twenty minutes or so, Steve just people watched, sitting on the step out in front of the Brotherhood apartment. No one was home, he'd tried the door when he first showed up.

This part of town had changed since he was a kid growing up here. It'd stopped being so rigidly separated by ethnic group. Instead the generic white yuppies and this thing Tony seemed to despise, 'Hipsters', also white, took over most of the places that were once owned by poor Jews, Italians, Irish, like his family, and Black people. There were gourmet cupcake shops, and Starbucks' on every block or so, and, a place that'd once been a Church when he was a child, was now a vegan deli. But the color of the city still shown through. 

There were still old ladies walking home from the butcher shop, still speaking a language he didn't speak, to another old woman. True, the language had switched from Yiddish or Italian or German to Hindi, or Urdu or Spanish, but the feel was still the same. It was part of what made Steve feel at home in his city, even after sixty years frozen. 

He was so stuck in his revere he didn't even notice, at first, that Erik was walking up the block. It was the second time he'd seen him in something other than his usual costume, but it still threw him for a second. He could have looked like any old man in the city in that paper-boy cap and a brown sweater that looked hand-knit and a pair of corduroy pants. 

“Good afternoon Steve,” Erik greeted, once he was about ten feet away. Steve looked over at him and gave him a wide smile. He seemed particularly happy that day. It put Steve at ill ease. There was a click in the lock. Erik using his powers, Steve supposed. He stood up, turned around and opened the door, holding it open for Erik as the older, but younger, man slowly walked up the stairs. 

“Hi!” he greeted. 

“I hope you weren't waiting too long.” 

“Not at all. Got a bit of time to people watch. Wish I'd brought my sketchbook. Lots of people I want to sketch tonight.”

“Good. You haven't seen Kashmir, have you? She left her keys on the kitchen table this morning.” 

“Yeah, she was here, but she walked up to the, uh, 'Bodega',” he said the word like he was confused by it, “and said to leave the door unlocked for her once you unlocked it.”

Erik didn't say anything, and, still smiling opened the door for Steve.

They both took the elevator up to Erik's room and sat down at the chessboard. The black set was already in place, but the white set was missing. Steve watched as the other man placed the bag he'd had in his hand onto the table and place the black set inside next to it's white brethren already inside. 

“Do you know how often in the last year mutants, particularly black trans women and homeless gay youth of color were killed in the last year, either by law enforcement, or ordinary humans?” Erik talked like he was on autopilot, that smile still on his face as he lovingly put his chess pieces away slowly in the bag. 

“No,” Steve said. 

There was silence for a moment, as Erik slowly placed a pawn into it's special space. He gave it a little pat, like it was a child he was putting to sleep. “Nine hundred and thirteen. Do you know how many of their killers received any jail time, or were even convicted?”

“All of them?” His voice rose like a question. He knew that answer was wrong, but...

“Two.” Erik placed the black queen into her spot, and looked at Steve. “Two others were pardoned by the president. The man who ran against him invited the two soldiers to a campaign dinner and openly congratulated them on killing our children. The government hates people like us, Steve. There is a point four three percent chance a person who kills a mutant will see even one day of jail time. I believe it is more likelihood Dennis Kucinich will win the next presidential election.”

Steve pursed his lips for a second, then raised a finger in question, “Uh, who's Dennis Kucinich?”

Erik smiled, it was a less dreamlike smile than the one he'd walked in with, a bit colder, but it was a smile none the less. “He is a mutant politician who has run for president twice. The average conviction rate for rapes is an abysmal three out of every hundred. Do you know what the conviction rate is for rapes committed against mutants?”

Steve's stomach sunk. He knew at the end of this lecture he'd feel horrible. But he knew he needed to listen.   
__  
Three hours later Toad walked into the living room, Mist Mistress, Mystique and Kashmir were already sitting in there, watching 'Designing Women' on the television. 

With the exception of Misty, no one seemed to notice him walking into the room. He sat down on the couch next to her silently and placed his feet in her lap. She glanced over and smiled at him, then turned her eyes back to the TV. Mystique, sitting in the recliner to the right of the couch, had the remote on the chair's arm in front of her and Kashmir was sprawled out on the floor in front of the couch, on her stomach, facing the TV. Her chin rested in her hand and her legs kicked up gently. 

When the commercials came on, Mystique muted the commercials.

“Do you think they fuck?” Kashmir asked, flipping herself so her back was on the floor instead of her front, resting on her elbows, like a phone on a phone stand. 

“Do you think who fuck?” Misty asked, prying her eyes away from the ad for Nair and towards the younger girl. “Julia and Mary-Jo?”

“No, uh, um...” Kashmir turned pink and looked away. “Nevermind. Stupid question.”

Mystique gave Misty a little grin. “I thinks she means my brother and Erik.” Misty grinned back at her.

“Oh, honey,” Misty said, her eyes closing as she grinned. “He claims, and this one right here,” she pointed to Toad, “believes him, that they just play chess, but a man does not come back from a chess game with a smile that big.”

“People have been spreading rumors about Charles and him since before your parents were probably born,” Mystique said laughing. 

“And none of those rumors have ever been true,” Toad said, rolling his eyes. “Do we have to have this discussion?”

“You don't know they haven't been true,” Mystique said. “Even I don't know if they're true or not.”

“If Erik is queer,” Mist Mistress began.

“You're not queer. You can't use that,” Kashmir said cutting her off. She looked up at the ceiling. “Use non-straight or, uh, in this case, isn't straight.”

“Isn't straight,” she corrected, “I'm fairly sure he'd be getting a crush on Captain America any time now. He seems to be his type. White, male idealists born before 1935.” 

“Why do you have to specify white?” Toad asked, elbowing her gently.

Mist Mistress didn't answer him. Instead she rolled her eyes and smiled wide at Kashmir, who smiled back. 

“I don't think so,” Mystique said, “Erik survived the Holocaust, and it's common knowledge at least one of Cap's missions took him within five miles of the camp he was in. I say there's too much resentment there.”

The show came back on and Mystique unmuted the television. All eight sets of eyes turned to face the TV again. When the next commercial break came, she muted it again.

“What do you even think they're even talking about in there?” Misty asked, looking at her husband. His feet were no longer in her lap, instead her's were in his and he was gently rubbing them.

“I don't know,” Toad said. 

“Is that question open for discussion?” Kashmir asked, turning around again to face them. “Or are you just asking the hubby?”

“It's open for discussion.”

“I'm betting,” Mystique said, “Knowing Erik, he'd get to Captain America by pushing him where he hurts. People being hurt and no justice being served.”

“Yeah, Magneto is good at that. Like, to Tony Stark or whatever, he'd use human children of mutants being taken away from their families. And, like, former Stark industries inventions being used to kill mutants, especially mutants who don't have powers yet and can be 'saved' or, like, whatever,” Kashmir said, “But Cap, he, like, um, would, like, care about all mutants I think.”

“Why do you call Erik 'Magneto?' He's only Magneto in costume to me, to be honest” Toad said.

Kashmir shrugged. “Sign of respect. It's his chosen name. I respect chosen names. I'll call him that til he tells me call him Erik.”

“So, if he went by Magnet Master or something just as dumb,” Toad asked. Mist Mistress elbowed him in the ribs, but he kept talking, “You'd call him that til he told you 'you can call me Erik?'”

“Of course she would, she's terrified of him,” Mystique said. “And of me.”

“Uh, um, I am not,” Kashmir said, not looking Mystique in the eyes. Her voice was low.

“Have I ever told you you're the worst liar in the free world?” Mystique asked. 

“Uh, no ma'am.” She still didn't look at her. 

“Because you are.” 

“Yes ma'am.”

There were footsteps, two sets of them, both in men's dress shoes, walking towards the door to the living room. Erik peeked in. “Mystique, you aren't picking on Kashmir now are you?” He grinned at her. She morphed into a little girl with ringlets and big brown eyes. “No sir. I wouldn't do something mean and rotten like that.” she said. The girl had a lisp. Then she morphed back.

“Has anyone ever told you it's creepy as hell when you do that?” Misty asked, “Cuz it's creepy as hell.”

“Play nice children,” Toad said. 

Erik waved over at them with his hand. “Kashmir. Come here. You and I are going to walk Captain Rogers home, and then, you will come with me elsewhere.” 

“Where's e-” Kashmir began, standing, then she looked up and noticed Steve Rogers was still standing behind Erik and promptly shut up. She walked to the door and followed the two men down the hallway away from the living room.

“It's back on,” Misty said to Mystique. “Quick. Unmute. I don't want to miss Julia's speech about the night the lights went out in Georgia.”  
__

“So, how was today's meeting?” Tasha asked, once Steve had come back home. She was sitting on his couch, a mug of that Russian tea Steve had made her the day before. There was already a dirty mug in front of her. Steve looked at her, then at the mug in her hand, then at the one on the table. “This one was supposed to be yours,” She said simply, “But then I decided it wasn't yours.”

Steve laughed. “I knew you liked the tea.”

“Still not as a tea shop in Budapest. How was today's meeting?” she repeated.

“Stressful. Hard. Did you know nine-hundred and fourteen mutants were killed last year? That's more than two a day.”

“It was actually nine-hundred and thirteen,” Tasha said blandly taking a sip of her tea. She said the number like it was nothing.

“They were people.”

“Everyone is a person. As far as I am concerned almost all of them were armed and dangerous. Next to no mutants can control their powers completely. If you have someone who can shoot lasers from their eyes, for example, who either can't, or won't, control their powers and could harm people, I think you should have the right to incapacitate them. Non-mutants have a right to not be killed as well.”

Steve frowned and crossed his arms. “It's just very difficult to hear about almost a thousand people getting killed for things that aren't their fault. Especially since he goes into detail when he talks about it.”

Tasha set her mug on the coffee table. “That's why he tells you things like that, Steve. He's trying to get you on his side. He doesn't actually care about mutants or mutant rights. He wants to destroy humans. He's another Hitler. If he wasn't a mutant, he'd be trying to kill another group. He's a terrorist.”

“He's a Holocaust survivor. Don't you think it's a little rude to compare him to the man who murdered his family?” In the dark corner of his brain that Steve didn't like to look at, he imagined a young Erik, painfully thin, terrified looking, in one of those camps he'd forced himself to see in Germany six months ago. He swore, when he was there, he felt the ghosts of all the people killed there. He pictured him like those children in the photographs. 

“Not if it's a fitting comparison.” She turned away from him and picked up her tea again, taking another sip. 

Steve sighed softly. “I was wondering, will S.H.I.E.L.D...” He paused. “Am I allowed to seek therapy during this mission? I have a feeling, since you'd probably prefer me not talking to Bruce-”

“You're allowed to talk to Bruce.”

Steve smiled up at her. “I'm allowed to talk to Bruce?”

“You're allowed to talk to Bruce. We have you signed up for a therapist as well,” Tasha said. She drained the last of her tea out of her mug and placed it on the table. “Now. I need a full debriefing.”

“There isn't much to say. He walked me through numbers. Statistics. He told me things like,” Steve paused, “nine out of every ten women with a visible mutation has been sexually assaulted...And that less than one percent of rapists face jail time. And he had photographs. Of mutants. Like twenty of them. And talked about how the sentinels killed them for doing things like walking down the street. One of them, Daqwan Henderson-”

“Hutchinton,” Tasha corrected, looking at him.

“Hutchinton...He was ten. Ten years old. And murdered.” 

“He nearly exploded his school. Did Magneto tell you that?”

Steve felt the knots in his stomach grow tighter. He'd have a lot to look up at the library tomorrow. “No, he didn't.”

“He did. His power was reality warping. He had little control of it, he imagined a bomb in the basement of the school. A janitor found it before it could be detonated, suspected Hutchinton and called the police. Sentinels were sent to capture the boy but he ran. They had no choice but to shoot him.” He voice was cold and impassive.

“He was ten.”

“He nearly killed five-hundred other ten year olds. It's better to kill one than five-hundred.”

“There was no need to kill him. The bomb had already been destroyed by the bomb squad.”

“He could have easily made another one. Steve. I know these stories are difficult to hear, but Erik is only telling you the easy ones. The sympathetic ones that tug at your heartstrings. He's not telling you of all the times sentinels saved people by killing mutants.”

“Mutants are people.”

“Mutants are mutants. People are people.”

“I'm a mutant.”

“You were a person first.”  
__  
“Uh, sir,” Kashmir said quietly, “Where are we going?” It was dark outside and they were in the middle of Kashmir couldn't tell where. But they were out of the city...For the first time in her life, she had left New York city. Maybe she'd even left the state. As far as she could tell, she might have. 

“We're going to Binghampton. We're breaking into a building on the SUNY Binghampton campus.”

“Oh....Okay...” Kashmir didn't say anything else. 

“No 'isn't that dangerous?' no, 'what are we doing there?' no 'why'd you pick me, sir?' No 'A-are you sure I'm, um, uh, right for the job?'” Magneto said. His tone said he was playfully teasing her, but she couldn't hear that.

“I don't really argue with you that much do I? I don't mean to.”

Magneto laughed and didn't answer. 

“Cuz if I do I could stop.”

“I can't tell if you're so jumpy because you want to impress me or because you're frightened of me.”

“A little from column A, a little from column B,” Kashmir said honestly. 

“I won't hurt you. You're a child. In my care. A parent figure should never hurt their children.”

“Should.” Kashmir said. She felt herself getting stuck on that word. Should. Should. Should. Should. Yes. They should. She said it to herself a few times, then sharply pinched her upper thigh to make herself stop. 

“Why do you do that?” It wasn't an annoyed question. It was just a question. 

“I don't know, sir. Sometimes I just get stuck. I think it goes with me being, you know, like, on the spectrum or whatever.”

“The spectrum being the autism spectrum?”

“Yes sir.” She nodded. “If it bugs you, I can-”

“It doesn't bother me. I was interested in why you did it. The Brotherhood isn't merely about pride in being a mutant, you know that, correct?”

“Pardon?”

“It's not just about being proud of being a mutant. It's about having pride in what makes you different from others. Your ethnicity. Your race. Your faith. Your abilities, or disabilities. And, of course, your mutations.”

“I don't see the point in having pride about either my powers or being on the spectrum to be honest.”

“You do though,” Magneto said.

“I don't. I get angry about my powers. I hate how they give me panic attacks because I can't kick other peoples' thought out of my head. About how, like, I can't even, like, sleep some nights or whatever because of them. Because I see in my mind's eye people burning alive, feel the hurt and anger and sadness. Because I see and feel so much for other people I can't even think or feel for myself. They make my mental illnesses and my neurological condition worse, they make my life hard,” Kashmir felt tears in the corners of her eyes and felt terrified Magneto would pull the car and make her get out right there and leave.

“That's not the same as having no pride in your powers. Think for a moment.” he kept his eyes on the road, but gently touched one of her elbows with his hand, taking it off the wheel. “Do you feel shame about your abilities? Do you hate yourself because you are a mutant? Or do you hate being unable to control them and people's reactions to them?”

Kashmir popped the end of her hair into her mouth and started sucking on it as she thought.“The second one I guess.” 

“Then you are proudly a mutant. There's a difference between pride in what one is, but anger about the problems it causes you and anger at what one is.”

“I suppose...I just worry because, like, you guys seem to have it all together and to love your powers and stuff and you can control them, and I'm just...Fuckup.”

“You're a seventeen year old who has had exactly zero assistance in controlling your powers. Even Mist Mistress has been training for four years. We're also much older than you.” 

“It doesn't make me feel better though. I've always...before these powers broke me, I was always good at everything. Math. Science. Hell, I could even do decent in gym and now I....I can't leave the house unless you or Mystique tell me to.” 

“That must be frustrating.”

“It is. You see these mutants on TV, you, Professor X, Rogue, Gambit, Mystique, now Captain America, and they all can like,” she switched to Spanish. “save the world and shit and I'm... 'I'm happy I managed to make my bed this morning because honestly I have not been able to leave it in a week.' I'm whining. I'm sorry... If you don't mind me asking sir, how'd your meeting with Captain Rogers go?”

“I believe he's beginning to understand. It's a little unsettling, having to destroy everything a man thinks he knows about the world. To make him keenly aware this country he loves now, practically overnight, hates him and people like him. If you look in his eyes, you can see how much pain everything I tell him causes him. To tell a man who values justice that the world he lives in is injust,” Magneto trailed off.

“It's the right thing to do.”

“It is. I'm not arguing that. But what is right isn't always easy.” 

The car fell silent for a few minutes. Kashmir turned to look out the window. They drove by a lake. Or maybe a river or a stream or the ocean. She wasn't sure. Some body of water. She'd never been to one. A beach. A lake. So, it was interesting. 

“That's the ocean, yeah?” she asked Magneto, turning around to look at him. 

“Yes,” he said. “You've never seen the ocean?”

“Uh, nah...One time, my family was gonna go to D.R. and I was gonna see it then, but then my dad lost his job. This is my first time out of the city actually. Not Manhattan, I grew up in Queens, but like, outside the boroughs.”

“Really?” the left side of Erik's face rose in a smile. A smirk maybe. Kashmir wasn't sure what to call it. 

“Yeah. It's pretty out here.”

“The world outside the city is very beautiful, yes. You should see Genosha one day.”

“That's the mutant only island, right?”

“Yes.” 

“And you're the leader, right?”

“I was. Then Mystique. We've handed over leadership, temporarily, to someone else.”

“Sorry if I ask too many questions. I just...I know almost as little about mutant stuff as Captain Rogers.”

“Don't apologize for curiosity. Genosha is beautiful. I miss it quite a bit.”

“It's in Africa, right?”

“Yes.”

“Do you ever feel guilty about that? You're basically a colonizer. Coming in, taking a country from the people who, like, lived there for centuries...There were indigenous people, right?”  
cen  
“There were.” Erik fell silent for a few moments, and looked to be thinking. “I never thought of it that way.”

“Is the guy you put in place, uh, like, um, like, native Genoshan?” 

“No...She's not.” His face grew more troubled. “I need to think about this.”


End file.
